Whenever I see Michael Moore these days, I always think of that impersonator on Arrested Development who shames Lucille into enlisting Buster in the Army.
Regardless, on Saturday A. and I went to see Sicko, which was an enjoyable experience. Here are some of my thoughts on it, and by thoughts I don’t mean a dissection of what is true and what is glossed over in Moore’s facts, just my biased, emotional impression as an American with a chronic disease and supposed-full-coverage health insurance. Also, as I am sure Michael Moore fans are just as fanatic as Potter ones:
SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS!
If I knew how to make it turn purple and blink, I would do it. You have been warned.
The editing was, as usual, great. Moore’s always been entertaining, and clever at snipping bits (although context may get lost on the cutting room floor) and adding silly stuff. The Skeeeery Socialism Government bits were great. A. and I have talked about that concept at length, and it really is interesting (as Moore pointed out) how the American citizen is supposed to be taken in by contradicting rhetoric. It would be socialistic and BluddyKommieseque for the government to enforce heavier standards on cars or food or medication/medical care, but everyone loves a smoothly running postal service. Also, we discussed how the division such conflicting references (and the subsequent confusion for regular people like us, because who decides this? Other than politicians bought by lobbyists) are comparable to the strange dichotomy of the definition of patriotism in this country. Maybe more on that later.
The stitching-up of a wound was a whammy of an opening spot.
The older couple in the beginning broke my heart – especially when their whiny son (though I don’t know if he was really bitching at them – more at the situation?) basically chewed them out for the havoc they had wreaked by moving into their daughter’s house. He did not look particularly healthy, but maybe he won’t make it to their age to experience the same problems?
I was on the Star Wars list! Colitis (ulcerative) Woohoo! You better believe I was watching for it.
The woman who went to Canada and lied about being a citizen made me a little angry. But then, her options are so limited based on insurance that I don’t know what else she could do. I also wonder if she has had difficulty going to Canada since the movie release; the clinics have probably issued an all-points bulletin with movie-stills of her!
American hipsters in Paris: irritating. Oh, well. That segment of the film still made me want to live there, even more so than Canada. What on earth would we of stress-exacerbated diseases do with five weeks of vacation? I shrivel in envy.
I loved the doctor who testified before the Senate about negligence and presumed wrongful death in her position. She was incredible. I wished there was more about her.
It was hard, watching evidence of some of the conditions in this country. Any illness/coverage complaints I have are, for the moment, secondary to that shit. At least I’m still in a position to support myself. That may change some day, but right now I should be out there working against this system.
Cuba stuff – funny, but I have no idea how accurate it all was, or whether or not their trip was legal/illegal. I wonder if Customs took Robin’s inhalers away at the border.
Overall, this should not in any way have been a wake-up call. But it really was. I have a pretty good imagination, and, masochist that I am, I enjoy lying awake at night thinking up scenarios in which I cannot work, I have no insurance, A. breaks up with me because the stress is killing his studying (or alternately A. stays with me because he feels sorry for me), I have to move home, my parents can’t support me, I have to go on welfare/disability, Rush Limbaugh calls me a welfare wench or a liberal loser or whatever his writers call people, I start stalking him, A. leaves me, dogs bark and I die in horrible pain at a bus stop in December in northern Minnesota.
I am now scared all over again, but at least Michael Moore has given me a better visual for my fear.